


Tom Riddle and the Fall to Power

by Polkat (aralias)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, April Showers 2015, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-19
Updated: 2003-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/Polkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It is our choices Harry, far more than our abilities that show us what we truly are.” TMR before the fall; nobody's born a murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of wizards and relations

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading old fic for April Showers 2015. All spelling/grammar errors left as originally posted.

He ran as fast as it was humanly possible to run; the holes in his socks occasionally snagging on the rough wooden floor of the orphanage. Through the half-opened curtains of the corridors the morning sunlight danced on the surface with him and off in the distance the laughter of washing children reached him. But the much more immediate sound was behind him, the panting of their breathing and the yelled threats and insults, Tom heard all these familiar sounds and tried to run faster but with little success. Every day it was the same, the same frantic chase, the same desperate hope he cherished that he might out run them this time, the same dreadful sense of disappointment as they pounced and held him to the wall while Eric's punches wracked his small body. Skidding slightly he entered the now empty dormitory and flung himself under one of the beds. For what seemed like eternity he waited, cowering under the wooden supports, then they were in the room with him. Large blue eyes looked fearfully out from under the crack between floor and the edge of the flowery duvet. Underneath the violent pink petals the boy could see three pairs of feet moving slowly in and out of his plane of vision.

"Come on Tommykins, we know you're here."

That would be Sam, as small and weak as Tom he made his way through life by verbally tormenting Eric's victims. Today would be no exception.  _I'm not here._

"Where are you Riddle?"  _I'm not here._  "We won't hurt you, just come out."  _I'm not here. I'm not._ "Sister Joanne says you have to come down for lunch," Eric's voice came again. "You don't want me to tell her you're being disobedient again, do you?"

_I'm not here._

"Oh Eric, don't do that. Don't you remember what happened last time Tommy was disobedient?" Another of Eric's friends: tall dark Richard. He knew them all. Knew their name, their voices; he knew the smell as they entered the room, the sense that prickled at the back of his neck when one of them was watching him, waiting for him to leave the protection of the sisters for just one moment. That would be their moment no matter how fast he might run.

"Awful wasn't it?"

"Without food for two days, I think."  _Just leave me alone, I'm not here._  "Be worse this time I reckon."

He must've moved without noticing it because Eric called suddenly "he's under one of the beds. Ric, you start at that end. Sam this. Come out Riddle! It'll be worse for you if they find you first."

 _I'm… not… here…_ "He's not under this one. _" I'm…not… here. I'm not here. I'm not here._ From his hiding place Tom could hear the covers being pulled up from each bed in turn. It would not be long before they reached the one he was hiding beneath and then it would be over once more.  _I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm nothere.I'mnothere.I'mnothereI'mnothereI'mnothere.I'mnot…_

With a wave of blinding light the bedspread was swept away and he closed his eyes and waited for them to pull him out, two hours later he would be lying in almost exactly the same place beaten and bloody. At breakfast tomorrow he'd be asked what had happened, "I walked into a door," or perhaps "I fell down the stairs." It would never do to tell on them, whatever task the sisters might dish out for punishment it would be nothing compared to what he would suffer at their hands. But it never came. He opened his eyes slightly and saw Sam's rat like features staring straight through him. "He's not here." Tom blinked in surprise. Sam could not have missed him. As stupid as he was he was definitely not blind but there was no doubt that he had looked under the bed and instead of seeing a trembling eleven-year-old boy had seen nothing. "I thought you said he was under the bed!" Richard demanded.

"I thought he was… little squirt must've got away."

An hour after they had left, muttering and hitting each other instead of him, he finally crawled out from the protection offered by the pastel sheets and raced down towards the dining rooms. Breakfast had started half an hour ago and the long tables were full of children shovelling down porridge that looked and smelt more like wallpaper paste than something edible. One or two faces turned to watch him as he made his way between the rows but most ignored him focusing on more important matters. Before anyone could take notice of his unexpected entrance he slid into one of the gaps and tried to eat.

"Happy birthday Riddle," the girl next to him hissed.

He started to thank her but the quiet of the meal was soon interupted. "Riddle!"

"Look's like it'll be no different from last year," he mumbled and made his way up to the head of the hall where the sisters sat. "Sister Joanne, I heard you wanted to see me."

"I am as always amazed at your punctuality."

"I was detained, sister. I apologise."

Sister Joanne sighed, Tom Riddle was so often  _detained_  for their scheduled meetings although usually when he did turn up he was accompanied by a black eye and a split lip which seemed to be mercifully absent for today's. She had long harboured suspicions about who was responsible for his beatings but the lad refused to talk and Eric Chambers remained unpunished. "I need to have a word with you. Have you finished your breakfast?"

Tom thought back to the now stone cold bowl that awaited him back his place. "I'm finished."

"Then lets go to my office."

Delicately he seated himself in the large armchair opposite the sister's desk. It swamped his tiny figure and Tom sank back into it gratefully. He'd been into the office before of course but always before with eyes swollen mostly shut and he looked around curiously at this new scene. It was practically empty save for the desk, the two chairs and the bookshelves that lined the walls. He let his eyes wander hungrily over their golden embossed titles, his fingers itching to pick up each one and stroke their leather covers and read the corn coloured pages where so much knowledge he didn't possess dwelt.

"This arrived for you this morning."

He reached across the empty desk for the heavy parchment envelope. The clover green ink of his address still gleaming as if it were still wet.

_Mr. T Riddle_

_The Orphanage of the Holy Sisters_

_Kingston_ _upon_ _Thames_

He turned it over to find a wax seal containing an elaborate crest containing a lion, a serpent, an eagle and a badger. "Before you open it I also have this to give you." Sister Joanne pushed another letter towards him. This one too was written on thick parchment and was addressed simply with the words  _"To my son Tom."_

"I'll leave you alone to read them."

_To my dear Tom,_

_Happy Birthday! Eleven today, I wish I could be there to see the fine young man you've grown in but it seems the gods have different plans for me. You must have received your Hogwarts letter today and while what it may tell you is strange please believe it because today marks the beginning of a completely different life for you. I wish I could see through the ten years that lie between us to where you are today but I cannot; I can only hope that you are happy with whatever life has chosen for you. Know always that you carry my love with you wherever you go and whatever you may do._

_And lastly whatever you may hear to the contrary I believe your father loves you too. If you get the opportunity please seek him out, it's all I have ever wanted for both of you. I love you so much,_

_Mother._

He did not cry, he had no tears left. He merely placed it back on the table and picked up the second letter. It was heavier than the first, obviously made up of several sheets. Gingerly he broke open the wax that sealed the envelope and pulled out the sheets it contained.

_Dear Mr. Riddle,_

_It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to_ _Hogwarts_ _School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"Tom?" The door opened again and Sister Joanne poked her head back into the room. "There's someone out here who claims he needs to see you. Can I let him in or do you need more time with your letters?"

"No, its alright," he answered having decided to ignore the mysterious second letter and its strange content. "Who is it? What do they want?"

The door was pushed open further and a middle-aged man with vibrant auburn hair garbed in curious bottle green robes entered the room shutting the door behind him.

"Tom Riddle?"

"Yes."

"In answer to your questions I can tell you that my name is Albus Dumbledore and I have come to speak to you about that letter you hold in your hand."


	2. Dawn

Tom looked quickly back at the words to check they still read the same as before as the auburn haired man seated himself in the opposite chair.

_You have been accepted to_ _Hogwarts_ _School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"I don't understand."

"Few people do." He removed his half moon spectacles from the end of his nose and polished them before setting them back in their place in front of sparkling blue eyes. "But hopefully with my help you shall not understand a little less." He had been given little time to unravel this complicated double negative before the stranger continued. "There is something about yourself that nobody has ever told you. Not through any malicious intent, you understand, simply because they did not know themselves. You're a wizard Tom."

Tom stared across at this kindly looking, mysterious gentleman and suppressed the urge to either stare vacantly or simply laugh out loud. "I'm a what?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled; it was always a struggle getting the intelligent ones to understand. "A wizard."

Tom shook his head. "I can't be."

"And why not?"

"Because everyone knows that wizards don't really exist."

"Has anything ever happened to you that you couldn't explain? Something that it seemed happened without a cause, as if by magic?"

"Wizards don't exist," Tom repeated gently but firmly. Clearly this man while extremely amiable was at the very least mildly deluded. "Wizards only exist within the pages of story books, they give the good guys a chance at victory or they give them an enemy to fight. But they do not exist within the confines of reality."

"You are extremely well informed for one of so few years," Dumbledore commented mildly, his lips twitching into a half smile. "Or at least you would be if what you said were true. But I believe what you actually mean is that you have never had any proof towards the existence of wizards and consequently think they cannot exist."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not entirely. But then," he paused eyes twinkling over the top of his glasses and Tom shrank back into the comfort of his seat. "Even if they were you have not been entirely truthful with me I fear."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you not? ... This morning you ran from three boys who, had they caught you, would have taken pleasure in the pain they inflicted on you for there is no compassion in the hearts of any of them."

"How do you know this?"

Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow and continued. "You were cornered and hid under the bed of a small girl. You could not have escaped without them finding you and yet you sit before me unharmed. Two possible explanations exist. Perhaps the boys had a change of heart and decided not to harm you after all but that is extremely unlikely. The other explanation is that the impossible happened. Samuel Higgins looked under the bed beneath which you lay and saw nothing. Why was this do you suppose?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps you became invisible."

"That's impossible."

"Precisely. So how could it have happened?"

"I got lucky, he didn't notice me."

"In my experience, luck is nothing more then a state of mind, the reason he didn't see you was because you didn't want him to see you. Perhaps it was just luck that while you could feel his breath on your face he managed to miss your entire presence. But if that is so I would like to ask you just why it so much more improbable that you simply ceased to be visible."

"Because…" once again Riddle found himself flailing lamely for an answer, any answer. Dumbledore just sat watching him, a slightly amused and wistful expression colouring his features. There were a million reasons why he could not have been invisible and Tom wanted to shout them all out at once and wipe that smile from Dumbledore's face but as he opened his mouth to end this argument they melted from his tongue. "I can't be a wizard," he finished weakly.

"You are. It is as much a part of you as your hair, blue eyes, fierce intelligence and, if I may, an equally fierce suspicion of harmless strangers."

A chorus of bells sounded from inside his robes and Dumbledore pulled out a large square watch and peered at its face intently before twisting one of the dials on the side and setting it down on the desk in front of him. "Confounded thing is still ten minutes too fast." Despite himself Tom reached out a hand to examine the intriguing object before withdrawing it as Dumbledore's gaze settled on his outstretched fingertips. "I've taken it to be fixed three times and its still not working properly." He pushed it across the shiny surface towards the boy. Beneath the square face six coloured hands moved at different speeds and in different directions. Tom twisted it around in his hands but whichever way up it faced he could make no sense of it except to deduce that the two red hands appeared to be telling the same time as the wooden framed clock on the wall. "What do the other hands tell you?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing at the moment. I'll take it with me tomorrow. We'll have some time to spare after we've finished picking up your school supplies. They may actually fix it this time."

This time Tom didn't bother to question the man, knowing the action was pointless. "I have to go now," Albus Dumbledore commented as he rose from the chair. "Can I have my watch back?" Reluctantly Tom handed back the extraordinary piece of machinery and followed him to the door. "It was nice to meet you Tom," Dumbledore held out his hand and the boy shook it uncertainly. "I'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp." He winked and vanished.

The hand that had until very recently held another trembled and he moved quickly over to the desk and leant heavily against it. His mind rebelled against what he had seen happen. I'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. A soft bell clanged. His breathing had begun to slow again and Tom looked up from his own white knuckles clutching the bevelled edge of the desk towards where Dumbledore's alarm clock still rang resting gently on top of the thick parchment of his letters.

 


	3. Travel arrangements

A beam of light shone into the dark dormitory through the crack where the old woollen curtains didn't quite close properly and he woke, feeling the warmth of the morning sunshine and the haze that allows you to remember your dreams and forget everything else. Slowly the boy opened his eyes before wrinkling them closed again as the blinding glare touched them and for a while he lay there listening to the birds sing outside and wondering vaguely what the time was but not minding enough to check while the sunlight contented itself painting a golden stripe across his pale little face. The boy in the bed smiled slightly to himself, enjoying the warmth and security, knowing that as soon as he opened his eyes properly that would be destroyed and lazily he rolled onto his side away from the brightness that threatened to wake him. The corner of the watch dug playfully into his cheek and Tom's eyes snapped open. Inches in front of his nose the disgustingly cheerful coloured hands of the watch rotated in their abstract way and barely able to focus he watched the path of the blue corkscrew hand as it twitched back and forwards restlessly, emitting a loud click with each fresh twitch. Now that he was properly awake he wondered how he could have missed the watch's tick which seemed to make the whole room vibrate. How could anyone sleep with that racket going on? Warily he inspected the room for signs of movement but there was none save for the rise and fall of each child's breathing beneath their coloured blankets. He stuffed the watch under his pillow in an attempt to quieten its relentless ticking but not before reading the time off the red hands. It was five past seven; the sisters were late in waking up the children this morning. Then, belatedly, he remembered the watch was ten minutes fast, which left him five minutes alone with his thoughts. The watch pinged quietly through his pillow and he wondered briefly what Albus Dumbledore had wanted to remember at seven minutes past seven. He suppressed a giggle at the thought of the strange man forgetting to brush his teeth because Tom had his watch. But then, the malicious part of his brain reminded him, if the watch was still here how would Dumbledore manage turn up at  _nine o'clock sharp_ without his watch to remind him to do so? Perhaps wizards didn't need watches to remind them about things.

A woman's silhouette appeared in the doorway and he jumped as Sister Mary Jane asked, "awake already Tom?"

He nodded.

"I'm sorry about those curtains, we are getting some more I promise."

"Doesn't matter. Would you like me to help wake everyone else up?"

"No, but thank you. Why don't you head off to the showers early, I hear you're off on a shopping trip with your… uncle, wasn't it?"

Tom smiled in the safety of the darkness. "That's right."

With a screech of curtain rings the room lit up as he gathered his clothes and headed off towards the bathrooms.

It was a minute to nine and Albus Dumbledore still hadn't made his appearance. Tom's eyes raked the large clock above the doorway desperately, behind him he could hear the slight snickering of the watching children. Everybody else's visitors turned up on time.

Sister Joanne laid her hand on his shoulder. "Tom, perhaps you should-"

"He's coming," he replied furiously. "It's not nine o'clock."

"Tom…" Slowly the long ornate hand moved towards the twelve and his heart dropped. He wasn't coming then.

Someone giggled. Tom wilted and turned away from the door, tears of rage and frustration gleaming in his eyes. Why hadn't Dumbledore arrived? After going to all that trouble to convince him he was a wizard in the first place… He looked back at the clock one last time; the second hand was just passing the ten. He could just be late, he'd be here in ten minutes or so, Tom tried to tell himself. The second hand moved onwards past the eleven. It was too late, he wasn't going to be here.

"Bad luck Riddle," Eric Chambers called from the crowd. "Looks like you're stuck here."

Tom couldn't help but agree, he had no relations on his mother's side and none on his father's side that wanted to know him. He'd be here the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry am I late?"

Tom whirled in time to see Dumbledore's grin and the minute hand move from nine to a minute past. He beamed. "No, you're right on time."

They walked a little way down the street before either spoke.

Tom wanted to apologise but when he opened his mouth what came out was "where are we going?"

"London."

"Oh. How?"

"Wait and see."

They hadn't walked for more than ten metres down the road before Dumbledore stopped and pointed towards one of the houses, "through there."

The house was abandoned but otherwise completely normal. "Wait here," Dumbledore instructed and disappeared off into a different part of the house. Tom looked around hopefully for some kind of magical transportation and even prodded some of the moth eaten rugs in the hope that one would reveal itself to be a flying carpet but nothing happened and he sat down in one of the old flea bitten armchairs to wait. Just as he was starting to become bored Dumbledore reappeared in the doorway and handed him a small flowerpot. "Floo powder," he explained to a somewhat dubious Tom. "It's a new invention, made from the skin of a frog, unicorn horn and common dust." Tom moved involuntarily away from the powder. "I've been bursting to use it for weeks now but somehow I never got round to it." Ignoring the look of moderate disgust across the boy's face he proceeded to explain exactly how Floo powder worked and despite himself Tom found he was fascinated.

The fire in the grate roared and Tom stepped into it.

"The Leaky Cauldron."


	4. Diagon Alley

With a loud thump and a scream he was hurled into the smoky bar, tripping over the raised edge of the fireplace and into the arms of an old and very startled witch. Mumbling apologies he walked quickly away from her and started furiously brushing the ash from his clothes. A few seconds later Albus Dumbledore appeared, stepped neatly across the grate and into the pub. "Fascinating wasn't it?" he enthused. Tom tried to glare at him but the wizard's good humour was infectious and he soon found himself grinning back despite the bruises that were forming on his shins.

"The usual Albus?" the bartender called from behind the gleaming counter, placing a small paper bag on its top.

"Thank you George. It's been too long." He pulled a number of small bronze coins across towards the other man and accepted the grubby bag before offering it to Tom. "Pear drop?"

"Um… thanks."

Dumbledore popped a pear drop into his mouth. "I'm particularly partial to muggle sweets, aren't you?"

"Er…" Tom replied intelligently. "Muggles?"

"The non-magical community. They seem to go out of their way to ignore what's right in front of them, bless them, but they do make delicious confectionery. Our sweets are much flashier but sometimes its simplicity that counts."

Tom wasn't sure whether he was supposed to reply to this but fortunately Dumbledore moved on through the crowds towards one of the multiple doors, he was stopped several times by wizards who were dutifully introduced to Tom and whose names floated straight through his memory. Finally they arrived in a small courtyard empty save for a metal dustbin.

"This is more than it appears."

"It is." Dumbledore brought out what Tom could only assume was a wand and tapped one of the bricks, a large gateway appearing where the dustbin had been moments before, a bustling street behind it.

After ten minutes Tom felt that Diagon Alley was the most extraordinary place he'd even visited, after thirty he knew it was. Up to this point the only real magic he'd seen was Dumbledore's disappearance after their first meeting and now their arrival by Floo Powder, Diagon Alley seemed to be bursting with magic that threatened to over flow at any moment and come spilling from the seams. It turned out his mother, while not being wealthy, had left him a substantial amount of wizard money guarded within Gringotts, the wizard bank. Tom, who had never owned anything, that was not already property of the orphanage, old and previously owned by five other boys, gazed at the small pile of gold in the grimy vault in wonder, his mouth open. The goblin next to him coughed rudely and glared at the awe struck boy.

"Why don't you put some of the money into a bag?" Dumbledore suggested kindly. "Goblins are very efficient, I believe wasted time offends them. Here take this." He handed Tom a velvet bag, embroidered in silver thread from one of the innumerable pockets in his robe and quickly the boy bent and scooped as many of the coins as possible into it.

Back outside in the street Tom watched in wonder as several people twice as tall as he was moved past him discussing the best wand movement to use with transfiguration. One of them got over excited and pulled out his wand to demonstrate his method and accidentally turned one of his companions into a duck billed platypus. Dumbledore moved on too quickly for Tom to see the effect this had on the others but half way down the street he heard the screams of rage as the platypus was turned back into a giant.

"Try my magic travelling powder today!" a tiny man squeaked while Tom tried to explain he'd arrived using it. "But it's a new invention made from frog skin, unicorn horn and dust" the man protested. "I've only just discovered it!"

"I think it's already been thought of," Tom apologised.

"Of course it has" a loud voice boomed as the man who had rediscovered Floo Powder yelled insults. "But why use Powder, boy, when you could be travelling by flying carpet?" the booming man asked clapping his arm round Tom's shoulder. "If you'll just step into my shop…"

An old woman pushed a large tray in front of him. "Would the young sir like to sample a chocolate frog?"

"How about a new camera son? If you take pictures with this baby they'll move once you've developed them."

"All cameras do that you idiot! Young man what you want is to come into my shop, we've got some special bargains today, one time only deals! Newt eyes are usually only 3 Sickles an ounce but for you, my new best friend…two."

Tom politely explained he already had his potion ingredients, that he didn't need a flying carpet or a new camera [although he did take a frog] and tried to push back through the crowds towards Dumbledore. The newt eye man followed him for a while ["You're a tough one, how about just one Sickle an ounce? Twenty Knuts?] but fell back under Albus Dumbledore's reproving stare and Tom was able to enter the next shop unaccompanied by his new friends. His new school robes were altered by magic until they fitted perfectly [unlike any of his other clothes] and Dumbledore lead him into the book shop where the picked up the books on the list Hogwarts had provided. The golden title of one of the books caught his eye as they left pushing their way back down the alley, Tom's arms aching with his new purchases.

"Mr Dumbledore…"

"Oh of course, how foolish of me." He twitched his wand  _"aegert."_ The bags in Tom's hands suddenly weighed no more than if they were empty rather than full to bursting with heavy books on magic, he smiled slightly "and its Professor, Tom _."_

"That wasn't what I was going to ask, er… Professor. One of the books back there was a book of Shakespeare's sonnets."

"Yes, Shakespeare was a wizard."

"I see." Tom thought for a moment then pronounced proudly "his sonnets are actually magic spells in disguise."

"Not quite," Dumbledore grinned. "It's just beautiful poetry." He stopped outside another shop. "Ollivanders is just down the road but before we get your wand perhaps you'd like to get yourself something from in here." A small bell jangled the national anthem as they entered the Magical Menagerie and Tom peered into the gloomy darkness. "Can I help you sirs?" the greasy voice of a shopkeeper asked as the man appeared from no where.

"No we're just looking, Magnus."

"As you wish Professor."

A wall of owls in cages hooted softly at him and Tom walked along the rows admiring the soft feathers and intelligent faces.

Welcome boy

He whirled. Magnus, the oily shopkeeper was standing at the entrance of the shop talking to Dumbledore about self-cleaning cages, neither of them had spoken.

"Who are you," he whispered, he didn't want either of the others to know he was hearing voices and talking back to them.

We have waited for you for a long time. Your ancestor promised there would be another.

"My ancestor? What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Tom?" Dumbledore was standing next to him, a strange look over his face and Tom, blushing, realised he'd been shouting. "Sorry Professor."

"That's alright," but the worried frown did not completely leave his face. "Have you chosen a pet?"

"Yes." He pointed a tawny owl.

"An excellent choice, sir," Magnus answered from his other side and Tom paid for the owl and left the Magical Menagerie without hearing the voice again.

Ollivanders was a rather old and incredibly shabby store that stuck out like a sore thumb among the newer and flashier shops, its once golden letters now a dark bronze, the paint flaking off them. Tom studied it sceptically, Dumbledore had assured him it was a famous place, and in fact the only place one could or should buy a magic wand but it definitely didn't look it.

"Fifteen Knuts!"

The newt eye man was back and Tom moved quickly into the shop more out of a desire to escape him than out of any real belief towards the worth of Ollivanders. Albus Dumbledore was already inside eating another of his pear drops and examining the wand in the window.

"Welcome Mr Riddle. I have been expecting you."

The old man glided from the shadows and inspected him with pale lamp like eyes, the back of his neck prickled. "You must take after your father, I can't see anything of your mother in you. I remember her first wand vividly; it took me two hours to find exactly the right one, eleven inches long, mahogany. Let us hope you are not such a difficult customer." He started measuring the ends of Tom's fingers with a large set of silver compasses. "Interesting. Very interesting," and he walked off towards the shelves of long thin boxes without sharing what exactly was so interesting about Tom's fingertips. "How about this one? Eleven inches, like your mothers, beech wood and unicorn tail hair." He handed it to the boy, watching him intently but ass soon as his skin touched the wood Tom knew: this wasn't his wand. He handed it back to Mr Ollivander and moved wordlessly towards the shelves himself.

"What's he doing?"

"Choosing his own wand it seems."

He could hear the conversation of the two spectators distantly but somehow their words didn't seem important at the moment. He could feel it somewhere close by; he walked to the end of the shelves and turned right.

"Has anybody ever done that before?"

"I do not believe so; even you had your wand handed to you. How curious."

By now he had reached the final shelf and kneeling he ran his hands along the line of card boxes until about halfway down he stopped and pulled one from the pile.

Over the other side of the shop Mr Ollivander beamed as one of his wands was moved. "He's found it." Tom walked back slowly, the box containing his wand still unopened. "Extraordinary," the wand-maker muttered as the boy handed it to him.

"This is it."

Mr Ollivander nodded. "Yes. Thirteen and a half inches long, yew and phoenix feather," he remarked without moving the lid or inspecting the contents. "You're right." Gently he lifted the lid and presented it to the boy who took it gingerly and waved it experimentally before him; a shadowy figure gushed from the tip of the wand bowed to Mr Ollivander in thanks and disappeared. Quickly he took the wand back, placed it in its box and wrapped it in what seemed to be an excessive amount of brown paper, his hands quivering with excitement as each layer was added. Finally he placed it in a bag and handed it back to Tom. "I think we can expect great things from you Mr Riddle," he said still smiling broadly.

As Tom and Dumbledore left the shop he was still mumbling: "Choose his own wand…High level illusions…Extraordinary."


	5. A wall, two train journeys and a walk across water

He'd been staring at it for a long time now and had finally reached a conclusion: the wall was undoubtedly solid. Tom pressed his finger against the rough brick surface. Nothing happened. It was in fact just a wall.

"What do you think he's doing?"

"Dunno. Kid's been standin' there for about half an' hour just prodding the wall."

"Do you suppose he's right in the head?"

The speakers stopped talking abruptly as Tom swung to face them. He glared at them briefly, back at the wall and then strode off in the opposite direction, their whispers about his possible insanity trailing behind him.

Why hadn't it opened?

Dragging his trolley behind him Tom went to sit on one of the cast iron benches his owl, Banquo squawking loudly drawing more attention. Pointedly ignoring the stares Tom pulled a crumpled piece of card from his pocket and stared at it expectantly as if it would suddenly reveal another clue to the location of the platform but the ticket remained stubbornly unchanging. He sighed and turned it over so that Dumbledore's loopy writing faced upwards. _Platform 9 and ¾ is located through the wall separating platforms 9 and 10. It will open if you believe it will open._

Several boys, who looked about fifteen, were leaning against it waiting for their train, emerald school blazers flapping in the currents created by the moving engines. Surely if there was a hidden gateway behind them they'd just fall through it but soon someone yelled at them to move and they ran to catch their departing train leaving Tom still completely flummoxed.

He glanced back at the large clock above the platform. It was half past ten; he still had half an hour to figure out this stupid wall thing before the train left. Mind you he'd been here since nine o'clock and was still stuck on this side...

 _Brilliant_.

After an  _exciting_  two hour bus trip here where he'd been forced to sit next to an ageing housewife who had produced photos of her numerous offspring and forced them into his protesting fingers, reeling out anecdote after tedious anecdote they had finally made it to Kings Cross Station. Sister Agnes had stayed long enough to wave a tearful goodbye as he boarded on the 9:14 train to Glasgow, where his new school apparently awaited him. She had seen him grin nervously, wave back and move down the cars towards an empty seat before leaving the station ready to return to the orphanage. What she had not seen was Tom walk the length of two carriages, ignoring the many available seats and eventually returning to the platform out of sight of Sister Agnes. Hidden behind the racks of extortionately expensive chocolate bars he watched her disappear, eventually emerging from behind the large displays and after dumping his trunk and irate owl onto a nearby trolley manoeuvred it inexpertly towards platforms nine and ten.

One and a half hours later and he was still there.

It will open if you believe it will open.

He sat there a moment longer, studying the wall and eventually pushed himself back to his feet. No inanimate object was going to defeat Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not today. Not ever. He walked resolutely up to it again. Fortunately the people who had jibbed at him before had boarded their train and were no longer watching. One hand stretched out to be once again met with solid brick. He struck out with one bony fist and yelped a word he'd once heard Eric get a week of solitary confinement for using as a trickle of sticky crimson welled from his knuckles. He ignored it and focused on the task at hand. Closing his eyes his fingers crept forward once more. He had been magically transported from Kingston to London, had seen a man disappear in mid air and a giant turn into a platypus. So if Albus Dumbledore said the wall wasn't there, well, Tom supposed he believed him. His arm was now completely extended. Not daring to draw another breath he took a tentative step forward, his feet met nothing. Two more steps carried him through the barrier and Tom prised open one eyelid. Shut it again. Opened both eyes. The steam engine was still there, gleaming brilliantly in the morning sun, his trunk however, was still on the other side. Grinning slightly Tom strode easily back through the wall, collected his trolley, checked no one was watching him walk through previously solid brick and pushed it back onto the secret platform.

There were very few people around and Tom, who had expected hordes of oddly dressed wizards like in Diagon Alley was momentarily surprised.

"Oh thank Merlin." The boy looked up and found a smartly dressed porter shaking his hand briskly. "I was wondering if everybody had forgotten."

"What?"

"Just over here sonny." Tom allowed himself to propelled over towards a very similar looking bench to the one he'd just vacated and sat down. "The rest'll be here shortly I shouldn't warrant." Tom regarded him in confusion but sure enough after less than a minute had elapsed a smartly dressed man stepped through the barrier, looked around briefly before vanishing and then reappearing, accompanied this time by an equally smartly dressed woman and a small girl with a long auburn plait running down her back. They moved away from the wall quickly and a pair of older, dark haired boys ran into the space they had previously occupied. Two girls fell onto the platform, followed by an old crotchety man and a women who looked suspiciously like the one sitting next to him on the bus, leading a line of blonde children. Slowly, in twos and threes the platform began to fill, watched by an inquisitive eleven-year-old boy with dark hair that stuck out from his head, clutching an owl in a cage. The same porter who had earlier greeted Tom spotted someone he knew and rushed over to him. "Where were you?"

"Some kid was standing by the wall, staring at it. None of our lot wanted to ask if he was a muggle in case he was so we waited for him to leave."

"Well at least you're here now." The boy got hurriedly to his feet and moved away into the crowds. Most of the other children were boarding the train now and after three unsuccessful attempts Tom managed to haul his trunk onto the raised steps and dragged it down the corridors until he found an empty compartment. For a while he peered through the scratched window pains watching the partings of affectionate families but eventually the train's whistle sounded, the last goodbyes were said and the engine drew away from the station, gradually gaining speed until they were off into the open countryside. He watched the fields pass for about an hour before growing bored and fishing in his trunk for one of the old battered books he had  _borrowed_  from the orphanage. A torn piece of paper marked his place and he opened  _Jude the Obscure_ and tried to read, ignoring the bumpy journey and his guilty conscience. It wasn't like anyone would actually miss the books. Infact he seriously doubted if Eric or some of the others could read but still…

The journey was an uneventful one, interrupted only by a sulky looking witch pushing a trolley full of sweets. Tom lied and said he had no money and she moved on after taking a quick glance at his orphanage issued clothes to confirm the fact. Another seven hours and three hundred odd pages later the train drew to a juddering halt. Tom looked up and back out of the window. It was dark, he realised in surprise. When had that happened? Children began pouring from the carriages, all in billowing black robes. He looked down at his scruffy jeans and slowly, horrifyingly it dawned on him that that was not what he should be seeing. Quickly he knelt on the floor, flung the trunk open and  _Jude_  back inside and tugged out his robes. There was definitely no time to change into his uniform but perhaps no one would notice that if he wore his robes over the top of his muggle clothes. Maybe not but still it was worth a shot. He pulled them on swiftly, closed his trunk and started pulling it out into the corridor. A tall girl with curly hair pushed past him and had almost reached the doors before she turned and informed him that he was supposed to leave his trunk on the train and hadn't he realised he was supposed to wear a tie? Tom blushed and abandoned his luggage.

"First years over here."

Tom drew his eyes reluctantly away from the horse drawn carriages that were departing from the other side of the platform and joined the small group congregating around the owner of the voice now revealed as a young woman with dark hair and glasses, beaming at the students gaggling around her. "Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor Murphy, I teach potions and I look forward to seeing you all in my class later on in the week but for now I'm sure some of you are wondering why we're not boarding those carriages," there were murmurs of agreement. "The simple answer is that we wanted to give you a taste of something magically phenomenal on your arrival. Find me a wizard who claims he can resist showing off and I'll show you a liar." She grinned again, the smile fitting easily onto her face. "We've got something special prepared for you guys. Follow me."

They trailed after her obediently towards the edge of the lake where the stopped. Tom at the back of the group stood on the tips of his toes trying to see what might be behind her. Lights dazzled on the water's surface but otherwise it was empty. "There's nothing here," someone grumbled.

Professor Murphy merely grinned broadly again and stepped backwards onto the water.

They gasped.

Out in the middle of the lake, seemingly hovering in mid air the potion's teacher laughed at their faces. She took another couple of steps out into the lake. "Well come on," she urged. "The feast'll be over before you even get to the castle at this rate." Nobody moved. The woman on the water sighed melodramatically "it's easy people" and looked over the crowd. "You can walk on water," her eyes met Tom's "if you believe you can." The boy found himself smiling and moving towards the front of the group. Hesitantly he took a step and found to his astonishment that there was a bridge stretching across the water, he just couldn't see it. He walked over to where the potion's master stood on the invisible brickwork. "Thank you Tom," she whispered as more of his classmates moved tentatively onto the water. "We could've been standing here for a long time."

"How do you-" he began but soon they were surrounded by excited children and Professor Murphy moved off across the bridge only she could see. "Don't stray past the lights kiddies," she called cheerfully striding along a meter above the surface of the water as if this kind of behaviour were completely normal. "They mark the edges of the platform and I'm not in the mood to fish any of you out tonight."

They had been walking for about ten minutes before she stopped them again. "You're about to get your first view of Hogwarts." Excited chatter started up again. They'd all heard about the castle of course but what would it look like. The march started up again.

"Wow," the boy next to him breathed and Tom, finding he didn't have any words of his own that fitted the moment more completely merely nodded and agreed silently as the walked across the air towards the castle that would be their world for the next seven years.

"Stand back, children." The great doors of the castle loomed before them and Professor Murphy removed her wand and tapped the doors with it three times before muttering something that was obviously a password but that none of the others could hear. They creaked and she jumped back. "Out of the way of the doors!" The swung outwards knocking over one boy who had not moved fast enough in response to her warning. "You'd think with some of the most powerful wizards in the country living here they'd be able to change the direction these open," Professor Murphy muttered as she picked him back off the floor and fixed his bleeding nose.  _"I'm sorry Denise,"_  she mimicked.  _"This castle is ancient, the doors were installed by the Founders. They're staying_." She dropped the voice. "Doesn't matter that at least one kid gets knocked out every year."

"Professor Murphy?" Tom ventured.

She looked slightly embarrassed and dropped the rant. "Anyway lets go in."

They passed their trunks in the corridors before stopping in front of some more doors. Professor Murphy turned around and addressed them again. "Behind these doors the rest of the school is waiting for you. The sorting ceremony will begin soon." She looked around at the nervous faces and her face relaxed into a smile that had been absent since their encounter with the castle doors. "Don't worry about it, all you have to do is be yourself. Once you're sorted into one of the houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin, it will become almost like your family." She told them about the house system in more detail for a while before disappearing through the doors [which also opened outwards but she didn't seem to mind this time.]

After about ten minutes she reappeared, winked and opened the doors further to allow them into the Great Hall. "Good Luck. It's time."


	6. The Sorting

He was still staring at the ceiling five minutes after they'd entered, watching the clear sky twinkle in the rafters.

"Tom," someone hissed next to him. He tore his eyes away from Canis Major and looked quizzically across. "You're supposed to be listening" the boy next to him whispered.

Listening?

He scanned the room quickly and fixed eventually on an elderly wizard standing behind a long table, speaking slowly in a voice that crackled like an old wireless. Next to him sat Professor Dumbledore in robes of Midnight Blue, apparently deeply absorbed in what the wizard was saying but as Tom's gaze flickered onto him, Dumbledore's lips twitched and he flashed the boy a small smile. Someone to the left of him yawned behind their hand and Tom watched as Professor Murphy, three seats to the left of Dumbledore began playing with her hair. She wasn't even pretending to listen and grinned broadly at Tom as he looked at her and rolled her eyes. Several of the other first years had also noticed her and the blond girl next to him let out a nervous giggle. Fortunately their new headmaster sensed he was losing his audience, smiled wearily and gestured to another of the teachers who brought forward a short, three legged stool and placed a mouldering hat upon it.

Then a rip in its brim opened wide and it began to sing.

Nobody else was the least surprised at this but Tom, who hadn't been listening to the speech that had obviously explained the singing hat, jumped and looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed.

They hadn't; everyone in the room was watching the hat. Eventually it finished, the school cheered and it bowed once to each table and fell still. A young wizard with a neat black beard and hair that swept his shoulders stepped up beside it and unrolled a scroll.

"Ashbury, Donald."

The boy who had spoken to him earlier and was presumably Donald Ashbury stepped up and gingerly placed the hat on his head.

Well now that's very interesting.

Tom looked around half heartedly but as he had suspected nobody else could hear the voice.

Yes, very like your father.

 _Thank you sir,_  Ashbury replied.

 _He was a good man. Like him you're a_ GRYFFINDOR!

The people around him began to clap; apparently the last word had been out loud. Donald rose pinkly from the stool and placed it respectfully back down.

"Bunson, Lisa."

There was a minute pause _. Incredible mind, it had better be_  RAVENCLAW!

The gaggle of people around him gradually disappeared until it was just Tom and another boy with long, light brown hair standing in the centre of the room. It had to be him next.

"Rico, Nathanial."

Nathanial moved quickly over to the hat and Tom was left standing on his own.

Incredible courage, nice and bright too; so where shall I put you?

 _Slytherin,_  Nathanial thought back, his voice in Tom's head hasty and eager and nervous all at the same time.  _It has to be Slytherin._

_Your family eh? You don't feel like a Slytherin though. Are you sure you wouldn't rather be in Gryffindor, you'd do well there._

_It has to be Slytherin._

_Your father said the same thing twenty years ago. Very well, let it be_ SLYTHERIN!

And then: "Riddle, Tom."

Nathanial handed him the hat and went to sit with his new house, looking both pleased and slightly apprehensive. Tom sat down on the stool and jammed the hat onto his head. It was much too large and fell down over his eyes replacing his view of the school with the dusty interior of the hat.

A deafening silence filled his ears.

Hello?

Nothing.

 _Why aren't you talking to me?_ he thought furiously _. You talked to everyone else._

The hat was silent for another moment.  _You heard that?_

_Yes._

_You're not supposed to._

_What's wrong with me?_ Tom demanded. _Aren't I magical enough to be here?_

The hat made a small sound that might have been a laugh.  _Quite the opposite. He's far more like me than any of the others ever were;_  the hat spoke again, its voice less deep now, more melodious. _Godric, this one's mine._

 _It's his choice Salazar,_ another voice, this one female; a warning.

No, that choice was made a long time ago. I'm not having Godric put another of my descendants into his house again. Not this time. Not with this boy.

 _It was their choice,_ the woman spoke again.

 _Well, now it's_ my _choice._

 _Salazar. Helga. Stay out of this._ The voice that had spoken to everyone else was back.  _We agreed a long time ago._

_But-_

You _agreed._

_Fine, just make sure you tell him the truth this time._

A small sound that might have been a sigh came from the first voice.  _Child, before you stands what may prove to be the most important decision of your life. Your mind is extraordinary in many ways; you possess great courage but you are also exceptionally intelligent and incredibly gifted magically. In fact you are almost uniquely positioned in that you could excel in any of the four Hogwarts' houses but as you may have gathered you are different from your classmates in another way as well. You are the last true descendant of Salazar Slytherin and he is very anxious that you join his house._

 _Do not let that affect your decision though, Tom,_ another woman countered.

 _And why shouldn't it?_ The voice he had now identified as Slytherin broke in, angrily.  _He is my blood. He_ belongs _in my house._

 _Tom,_ Gryffindor's voice continued as if he had not heard the other two.  _I will not decide for you and neither, though I suspect he would very much like to, will Salazar. This choice can only be made by you._

From the behind the teacher's table Albus Dumbledore watched as Tom sat silently beneath the hat, the visible part of his face pale and determined.

Very unlike the rest of his ancestors it was true; but his choice… would his choice be the same?

There was silence for another moment.

"Slytherin," the hat pronounced; its voice quieter than usual, tenor rather than bass, a sense of self satisfaction that had not been there before clinging around the word as Tom Riddle removed the hat and walked slowly across to the table second on the right, a smile of triumph edging around his mouth.

He belonged.

 


	7. Nathe

The headmaster was speaking again but _,_ once again _,_  Tom wasn't really listening to him. It was far more fascinating to gaze around at the other members of his house; a few of them stared back forcing him to look away but mostly they glared morosely at the empty serving plates as if something might appear there if they stared hard enough. Then, suddenly, something did. Tom blinked and looked down at the nearest platter which was brimming with food; gravy rivers running through mashed potato mountains.

Another thing that had been explained while he'd been daydreaming then. That would have to stop; he wanted to actually learn things here. For the moment though he concentrated on the task in front of him, the smell of fried food too strong, for a person who had not eaten for the last nine hours, to resist.

"So you're the heir," a cold voice, stated, so incredulously it sounded like a question rather than a statement.

Tom swallowed quickly at turned to his left where Nathaniel Rico sat, distorted by some translucent substance hanging in between them. He forced himself to focus and realised he was sitting next to a ghost.

"Er… yer." He extended a hand in greeting and tried to smile. The ghost did not smile back, and Tom redrew his hand rapidly. Ghosts did not shake hands. "I'm Tom."

"I know." The ghost sighed. Obviously Tom had not been who he was expecting. "I suppose you have no idea who I am."

Not wanting to seem impolite Tom quickly assessed the ghost. He had been tall and imposing in life. Some of this still lingered in death but now the sense of menace clinging around him came from the silver bloodstains upon his robes, shining eerily in the light from the candles hanging above him. "Um… you're Slytherin," Tom guessed, trying to make it sound as little like a guess as possible "and" his eyes lit on an insignia "You're a baron!" he finished triumphantly.

The baron looked moderately impressed. "Yes, well done boy. In life I was the Baron of Shropshire and you…" his translucent eyes met Tom's and the boy suppressed a shiver.  _"You_  are Slytherin's heir… He's talked to you already I presume." Tom nodded. " _Yes_ …. I suspect he's delighted that one of his descents was finally put into his house; your mother was a  _Hufflepuff_  I believe." The word Hufflepuff seemed to have a nasty tang and he spat it out with a sneer. "And a large number of her ancestors were Gryffindor. Obviously I have very little to do with the other houses so I have never been able to talk to any of his line before. It is an…  _interesting_  experience."

"Well, I've never talked to a ghost before," Tom assured him.

" _That_  is painfully obvious."

Tom felt himself blushing but at a loss for anything intelligent to say. The baron rose to his ghostly feet, which were encased in buckled boots. "I'm sure we will talk again," he said, and Tom, unsure as to whether this was a goodbye or an offer for a weekly lunch, nodded seriously and hoped it was the former. "Yes…" The baron narrowed his eyes and floated elegantly down the rows of students.

Tom let out his breath and turned back to his mashed potato as the whispers built up around him.

Finally somebody snapped "you there." Tom looked up into the face of a blonde boy, several years older than him. "…Riddly or whatever your name was."

" _Riddle_ ," Tom corrected, doubting the boy would remember his name in half an hour's time.

"Yes, whatever…you were speaking to the Bloody Baron," the boy persisted.

"…Yes?"

The whispers towered further; the boy's face held the same grudging respect as the baron's had earlier. "I've been here for two years and I've never heard him speak to anyone." Those around him agreed, including several people who looked considerably older than the blonde boy.

"Oh," Tom replied, stupidly. He thought about telling them that the baron hadn't really said anything but while he was thinking this the others had already lost interest in him. Clearly, a boy who could only manage sentences of one word maximum, no matter if he seemed to have attracted curiosity of the Bloody Baron, was not anybody very remarkable.

Tom smiled slightly and turned back to where the ghost had been earlier.

Nathaniel Rico was staring across the hall, but not at anything in particular, eating with a supreme lack of concentration and apparently ignoring all those around him; not that anybody was making any particular effort to speak to him but Nathaniel seemed to think that it was better to make sure that if anybody intended to they would be very quickly dissuaded or perhaps, Tom thought, he was just unaware that there were other people around him. He was frowning slightly; thinking and was, therefore, very surprised when the boy next to him tapped him on the shoulder, grinned disarmingly and announced his name was Tom.

"And you're Nathaniel."

Nathanial turned, assessed him quickly with an air of astonishment, as if he hadn't really expected anyone to be sitting next to him or for those people to talk to him. "Yes, I am," he replied eventually, his voice slightly aristocratic. He smiled briefly at Tom, a smile that looked much more at home on his face than the frown that had sat there previously, but one that was quickly gone, and turned back to his contemplation of the wall, perhaps hoping Tom would go away or at least bother the person on his other side.

Tom suppressed an inward sigh. This must have been how the Bloody Baron had felt talking to him. "Do your friends call you Nathe?" The other did not reply. "Or, um… 'Thaniel?" Nathaniel turned to look at him, bewilderment and incredulity vying for room on his face. Tom backtracked hastily. "No, probably not… that sounds a bit like spaniel, doesn't it?"

The other boy looked confused for a moment longer then laughed rather helplessly. "Nathe will do, I suppose, but no one's ever called me that before."

Tom surveyed him; Nathaniel was slightly taller than him but not much, his skin the colour of very milky coffee and his hair, long and tied back in a plait that brushed past his shoulders. Now that he wasn't scowling any more he looked slightly nervous, as he had before he had tried on the hat; he did not, however, look at all biblical. "So," Tom began, "people just call you… Nathaniel?"

The newly christened Nathe, nodded, smiling slightly. "Yes, well, no; my father generally refers to me as "boy."  _Boy_ , like an insult… as if, perhaps, I'm young and foolish on purpose." He frowned, suddenly looking sterner and older. " _Boy_ , come here," Nathe snapped in a voice that was not his own. "Explain yourself, this instant. Your mother tells me you've-"

"You're an actor," Tom breathed, interrupting.

"What?" Nathe snapped again, this time with his own intonation. "No, I'm not-"

"You did your father's voice," Tom insisted. "That was incredible." He cast around the room for a suitable subject. "Do Professor Dippet. I wasn't listening to his speech at the beginning, I bet you…"

" _Tom_ ," Nathe insisted, firmly; the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth once more. "You've never met my father. For all you know he could be a kind, enthusiastic old fool and I've portrayed him completely incorrectly."

"Which makes you a better actor… I mean I believed you." He paused. " _Please_."

Nathe frowned again, the lines forming easily on his face yet looking oddly incongruous. Clearly, while he frowned a lot, his face was not made for it. Then he slumped slightly, the muscles in his face relaxing. "When the feast is over," he quavered, "you will follow your house prefects to your dormitories." He smiled kindly. "Where, I'm sure, you will all be eager to get acquainted with your new beds as well as your house mates."

Tom beamed. "Fantastic! …Told you you were an actor," he added proudly.

Nathe grinned; matching Tom's own. "Well… I'm not really. I mean my parents would probably disown me; they want me to go into the Ministry."

"Of… _defence_?" the other asked uncertainly.

Nathe looked unsure whether this was supposed to be a joke or not and laughed just in case it was. "Of magic… Father's really high up, head of his department. I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted me to follow in his footsteps although at the moment he barely acknowledges my existence so I'm not sure how that's going to work." He grimaced slightly then brightened. "At least I've managed to get into Slytherin… I can't imagine what my parents would have said if I'd been put in Gryffindor."

"Yer, Godric said you'd be good there," Tom said without thinking.

"Godric? … _Gryffindor?"_

He contemplated lying but nothing feasible came to mind. "I…er… heard what the hat was saying to you." They other boy's face darkened again as if Nathe couldn't ever decide exactly how he should be feeling at any given time and swung between anger and good humour before anybody could adjust to the current emotion. "I heard what it said to everyone," Tom admitted, apologetically. "You wanted to be put into Slytherin so Godric, he's the voice you spoke to, allowed you to be placed there though I suspect he was unhappy letting you go. The Founders seem to have this obsession with choice…" he tailed off but Nathe no longer appeared to be angry.

"Well at least I chose correctly," he said, turning back to his food which melted from his plate the next moment. "Ugh," he whined, sounding more like the eleven-year-old boy he was. "I hadn't finished that."

Tom was too busy searching for his own food to reply as the puddings appeared. "Is… erm, everything done by magic here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Nathe answered, sounding rather like Tom had just asked for confirmation that the world was round. "Why? Don't you have house elves where you live?"

"No," Tom replied, thinking it better to conceal that he had no idea what a house elf was.

"Gosh, that must be awful. Mother keeps going on about how lucky we are to have a house elf but I never really thought there were people who didn't have any; did you parents do the cooking then?" As he spoke Nathe pilled a rather large amount of jelly onto the bowl in front of him, apparently trying to make up for the disappearance of his first course.

"I lived in an orphanage," Tom clarified, reaching across the table for one of the cakes out of his reach. The pointy faced blonde boy who had asked him about the Bloody Baron earlier watched his efforts out of the corner of his eye but made no move to push the cakes closer. Nathe looked nonplussed. "An orphanage is where you go when you don't have any parents," Tom explained, painfully aware that several other people were now listening to the conversation.  _Or any parents that want you_ another part of his mind added. "It was a-" what was the word? " _muggle_ orphanage, so you see I've never really seen any magic before or knew I was a wizard."

Nathe's fork had stopped half way towards his mouth and he seemed to have quite forgotten it was there. "Didn't know you were a wizard?" he asked, in disbelief.

"No," Tom began, then seeing the horrified look on his new friend's face added, "sorry."

"Then surely," the blonde boy interjected [apparently he too had been listening] a slight sneer catching in his voice, " _surely_  you're not a Mudblood?"

The boy next to him shook his head, causing the braids around his face to sway slightly. "Oh, don't be a fool Eminor… he can't be."

"No, I suppose not," the blonde replied, relaxing slightly and sticking his tongue out at his friend. "And don't call me a fool."

"Mud-blood?" Tom forced himself to ask, hating himself for his ignorance. He could tell it was nothing good from the way the older boy's lip had curled as he formed the word but other than that he might have been speaking Greek for all Tom understood.

Nathe waved his hand dismissively. "Some one with non-magic parents; but as…" he paused.

"Anantole Barton," the darker haired boy supplied. "My  _feebleminded_  friend," the blonde took a swipe at him, and Barton laughed. "Alright, alright, my friend here is Eminor Malfoy… but I wouldn't bother listening to anything he says if I were you, so it doesn't really matter."

Nathe grinned and continued. "As Barton says you could hardly be a Mudblood if you ended up in Slytherin… after all the reason Salazar Slytherin left the school in the first place was because the other founders wanted to let them in too."

Tom turned back to his cake and prodded it distractedly with his fork.

"You're not are you?" Nathe asked, laughing slightly as if the whole thing were completely ridiculous.

"No," Tom said, still looking at his desert. "My father died before I was born and my mother followed him soon after I was one… but they were a witch and wizard."

Those around him looked uncomfortable and Nathe murmured something about being very sorry and that he wouldn't bring it up again. Tom forced himself to smile. "It's alright, I never knew them… I just feel really out of touch with this world."

"You'll learn," Nathe assured him, grinning again. "For Merlin's sake even the Hufflepuffs do."

"And at least fifty percent of them are vermin; it's a wonder they ever learn anything," the blonde boy, Eminor, added cheerfully. "Ah," he noted. "It seems dinner is over."

Sure enough several older people, presumably prefects were rising from their seats and the cry of "first years, follow me," echoed around the Great Hall.

Eminor and his friend remained seated as Tom and Nathe joined the other Slytherin first years gathering around their two prefects. As they passed the two boys again Tom grinned and Anantole Barton gave a slight wave before they resumed their conversation and the first years left the Hall.

The young Slytherins trailed along with the Ravenclaws for a while but eventually peeling off towards the dungeons, Nathe, keeping up a constant stream of chatter, appeared to be trying to make up for his amusement at Tom's ignorance of the wizarding world by giving him a running commentary on the wizarding world in relation to Hogwarts. As they walked through the corridors he told Tom about how the portraits moved and talked and how photographs could also move if you developed them properly but couldn't talk, how the stairs changed position on their own and how the mark of a good house elf was that one never saw them so he shouldn't expect to meet any.

However, he appeared to have as little knowledge of muggles as Tom had of wizards and kept pointing out other things like doors and lamps and banisters that Tom was quite aware of already. By the time they reached the end of their journey Nathe had already had another three flashes of impatience [the last, at his friend insisting he knew what a carpet was] but by now Tom had grown used to them and was starting to really like the darker boy whose anger faded as quickly as it arrived and whose often, wicked sense of humour was already starting to show itself.

The prefect leading them, a tall girl with shining black hair loose around her shoulders, stopped next to a solid wall. Tom stopped walking too but a number of other people did not and several of them fell over in the rush to see the common room for the first time. The prefect smiled at their eagerness and informed them the password that would unlock the door was  _"Veritaserum."_

The wall swung open.

 


End file.
